


Useless (Introspective)

by Mordhena



Series: Crowley is Asmodeus Headcanon [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Implied Relationships, Introspection, M/M, POV Crowley, Post episode s11e18, The Darkness - Freeform, crostiel, crowstiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-08
Updated: 2016-04-08
Packaged: 2018-05-31 23:21:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6491572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mordhena/pseuds/Mordhena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Short fiction set after SPN S11E18 just a bit of internal monologue on the part of Crowley. CasxCrowley mildly implied.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Useless (Introspective)

**Author's Note:**

> _A/N: As usual, my Crowley is slightly left of center to the Canon Crowley. I just can't, in my headcanon see how Crowley and Fergus McCleod are the same person. It doesn't even make sense given the timeline the writers have given him. This story thus, loosely fits into my Crowley is Asmodeus timeline. For an indepth explanation of that, see the notes on that series._

It wasn’t often that he asked for help. He had his pride. In fact, pride was quite possibly the only thing he _did_ have left to him now. He’d gone to them; the bloody Winchesters and not begged. No, he never begged…except when, but he wasn’t going to think about that. No, he’d gone to them and _bargained_ for their help. A fair deal. The Shoma for their assistance. **  
**

He should have realized it wouldn’t work. Those idiots were no match for Lucifer. Lucifer. Arrogant, smart mouthed, pain in the jaxie Lucifer! Crowley grits his teeth until he can hear the enamel cracking.

He’d launched himself out of his vessel with such force that the poor old literary agent screamed. He was not usually so inconsiderate. The man had pretty much handed over the reins to him, after all. Never interfered, never demanded his life back. Crowley would buy him a new suit. That might appease.

He’d seen a moment of vulnerability, a crack in Lucifer’s armour and had taken it. He needed to get his pigeon back. Just as Castiel was no use to him dead, he was even less use possessed by the goddamned light-bearer.

Crowley closes his eyes. His jaw works and this time, there’s a definite chip of tooth cracked loose in his mouth. He’ll heal that later, too.

And it had all been useless anyway. Castiel wasn’t interested in tossing the devil to the curb. He was curled around his television set, watching some black and white drivel about everything being okay.

“Risk your skin for a stupid parrot,” Crowley mutters. “What did you expect, really?”

And now, Lustiel is gone hell knows where with Amara and Crowley’s stuck on the lam with _her_.

As if reading his mind, Rowena picks that moment to speak. “Cup of tea, dear?”

Crowley hisses between his aching teeth. He gives no more response than that.

She pours anyway.

He studies her, sees flashes of the moment when Lucifer, wearing Castiel’s face broke her neck. He flinches from the sight, even now. Why doesn’t he hate her? He should hate her. She’s not even his mother, really. She’s McLeod’s mother. And it’s true enough his twisted spirit and the soul of that particular human are intricately bound. But She. Is. Not. His. Mother!

He sips the tea. It’s oddly comforting.

He should hate her, and he should want her dead more than he does. He shouldn’t be so glad that the bitch survived.

It’s too bloody complex and it gives him a headache. He stares into his cup, watching steam curl up and away from the milky surface of the drink.

_What now?_

“Useless,” he whispers.

“There there, pet.” Rowena dimples at him over her cup. “It’ll all come out in the wash. You just wait and see.”


End file.
